Hey, Loretta!
by cousinjean
Summary: Pure S/B fluff. Cleaning day in the Summers household proves to be less than productive when Buffy & Spike can't agree on what music to play while they clean.


  


_ Summary: Pure S/B fluff. Housecleaning day in the Summers household. _

Notes: DL meta-fic, set a couple of weeks after the conclusion of Dancing Lessons 2.0: War!_ All you really need to know for this is that Spike and Buffy have been together for months, and Spike recently moved in with Buffy and Dawn. To read _War!_ and the rest of the DL saga, visit http://dancing-lessons.org. _

This story was conceived whilst driving through Tenessee on too little sleep and too much caffiene and listening to a Loretta Lynn cd someone had just given me. 

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al. The quoted song lyrics (in the dialogue; this is not a song-fic) belong to the Sex Pistols and Loretta Lynn, respectively. The story's title is that of a Loretta Lynn song. Again I say, this is not a song-fic. 

Archiving: Sure, just let me know where it's going. 

Feedback: Yes, please. 

Hey, Loretta! 

*

  


Buffy ran a cloth over the mantel and tried not to think about how thick the layer of dust there had gotten. Okay, so housekeeping wasn't exactly her strong suit, and Dawn and Spike were even less clued in about domestic chores than she was. It wasn't like they hadn't had bigger things on their minds in the last few months than the size of the dust bunnies under the sofa -- something she still wasn't sure of. She had a feeling she'd neglected them so long they'd been allowed to mutate into something she'd have to slay. 

Not that she did much slaying these days. To the best of her knowledge, vampires and Sunnydale were no longer mixy things. Except for Spike, but he didn't count. Faith seemed to have a handle on the remaining demon population, especially now that Giles didn't need to be watched over twenty-four/seven. All of which freed Buffy up to focus on household duties. The only downside was that she no longer had a good excuse to hire a maid. 

Spike and Dawn had, naturally, been all for hiring one anyway; but Buffy felt like that would be cheating. After all, her mom had managed to take care of the housework, on top of running her art gallery and raising two teenaged daughters. It shouldn't be that difficult for the three of them to keep up with the cleaning. 

So. Today was the first of what would hopefully become a weekly event for the Summers household: Cleaning Day. Dawn had the upstairs, and Spike was in charge of the basement and the garage, which kept him from being able to use sunlight as an excuse to get out of it. This left Buffy with the living room and kitchen. She also had ambitious plans for the closets. 

She set down her rag and headed to the kitchen to grab a can of furniture polish. On the way, she passed by the cd player and turned it on. The anything but dulcet tones of Johnny Rotten filled the house with a proclamation that he was the antichrist, prompting Buffy to back up and turn it off. As she opened the changer she shook her head, partly in wonderment at Spike's taste in music, but mostly to stop her ears from ringing. Didn't vampires have super hearing? Why the hell did his music have to be so loud? Maybe his hearing was starting to go in his old age. The idea made Buffy snicker. She stopped herself when she heard the door to the basement open in the kitchen. 

"Oi, pet! You gonna play that or not?" 

"Actually, I was thinking, not?" 

"Oh, come on! Reckon some music'll help all this drudgery go a hell of a lot faster." 

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "Some _music_ just might do that." 

She could swear that she actually heard Spike's eyes roll from the kitchen. "Fine, love. Just remember, you're the one what supplied most of my collection." 

"It's the gift that keeps on giving, honey," she replied, then added under her breath, "giving me headaches." 

"I heard that!" 

So much for the going deaf theory. "I'll put something on," she called. 

"None of that Lilith Fair stuff," he called back. 

"I've got the new Hanson CD," Dawn shouted down from the top of the stairs. 

"No!" Spike and Buffy both shouted back. 

"Fine!" Her feet could be heard stomping away down the hall, but then after a few seconds they could be heard stomping back. "They've really matured, you know! They've got a whole different sound since their 'Mmm'bop' days!" 

"No bloody boy bands!" Spike decreed from the kitchen. 

Buffy grinned at the panic in his voice. "Don't worry. I'll find a compromise." 

"And it's not like they don't play their own instruments!" Dawn called down, not ready to give up. 

Buffy went to the stairs and looked up at her. "Didn't Dad send you a Walkman for your last birthday?" 

Dawn just rolled her eyes and stormed off down the hall. 

"None of that ruddy Pop Stars crap, either," Spike called as Buffy headed back to the stereo. 

She just smiled as she called, "Trust me." 

She heard him make a little "Yeah, right" snort just before the basement door closed, signaling her turn to roll her eyes as she pulled his punk collection out of the cd changer. As she put them away her eyes fell on the package Xander had sent her. When he'd gotten to England the Council had given him his own computer, complete with a cd burner. He'd immediately gone to town making compilations for everyone back home. Buffy slid the cd he'd made her out of the envelope and put it on the changer. As she did she realized that all of her time spent around Spike had taught her a thing or two about the art of the evil grin. 

As the music started she fetched the furniture polish. By the time she made it back to the fireplace she found herself bouncing in time to the music. Catchy. As she wiped the polish off of the mantel, she found herself singing along with the chorus. "I want you out of my head, and back in my bed--" 

"Pet?" 

Buffy turned to look at Spike, who stood right behind her. He simply stared at her, an eyebrow raised in bemusement. 

"Need something, sweetie?" Her face remained a picture of innocence. 

He tilted his head and scrutinized her like he was trying to gauge just how much of her mind she'd lost. Finally he drew in a dramatically deep breath and asked, "Country?" 

"It's Loretta Lynn." 

"So I hear." 

"It's a present from Xander." 

"Of course it is. The boy does like to punish me." 

"Hey! Loretta Lynn! She's a classic." 

Spike stared a moment longer, then cracked a smile. "Don't tell me you like this stuff." 

Buffy shrugged. "Don't hate it." 

He pointed at the stereo. "Have you listened to these lyrics?" He affected a bad country twang as he sang, "You're squaw is on the warpath …" He shook his head. "What the hell does that even mean?" 

"It's empowering," Buffy said. 

"Yeah, 'cause you Slayers need all the empowerment you can get." 

Buffy smiled, but then she tried to look stern. "Look, next week you can pick the Cleaning Day soundtrack." 

"Fine," he said as she turned back to the mantel. She reached for her rag, but then she was pulled back around and found herself in his arms, being led in a surprisingly competent two-step. 

Buffy giggled. "Okay. Where did you learn how to do this?" 

"Oddly enough, you outlive a century, you learn a lot." 

"Yeah, but … country dancing?" 

He shrugged, and spun her around. "Boring story. Wouldn't interest you." 

"Oh, I beg to differ. Stalk a lot of hoedowns back in the day?" 

He flashed her his best "wouldn't you like to know" grin, then dipped her. Before she could push him further, his lips were on her throat. Ooh. Conversation over. Explaining would involve the use of his lips, and she much preferred what he was doing with them at the moment. He moved them up to her earlobe. Even better. 

He pulled her back up to standing as the music slowed to a cover of a Patsy Cline ballad, and they fell into a slow sway. As she wrapped her arms around his middle, he slid the strap of her tank top off of her shoulder and trailed behind it with his lips. Spike lips. Lips of … oh, God, that felt good. 

"The cleaning …" She'd meant it to sound like a firm protest, but it came out as something between a gasp and a moan. Yeah, real convincing. 

"Closets'll still be there," he mumbled against her neck. 

"Yeah. Good," was all she managed to get out before grabbing his face and pulling his mouth to hers. Nothing could pry them apart now. 

Nothing except footsteps coming down the stairs. 

"I cleaned my room and both bathrooms," Dawn said on her way down, "and mom's room is all ready for the new Watcher. You guys can clean your own room. I'm going over to Brenda's." She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked into the living room. Buffy was studiously arranging magazines on the coffee table while Spike scrutinized the painting over the mantle. 

"Yeah, okay," Buffy said. 

"See ya, Bit," Spike called. 

Dawn started for the front door, then stopped and looked back at them. "What the hell are you guys listening to?" 

"Loretta Lynn," Buffy said. 

"She's a classic," Spike said. 

"And damn sexy," Buffy added. 

"Damn skippy," Spike agreed. 

Dawn just shook her head. "You guys are beyond weird," she muttered as she went out the door. 

Before Buffy could straighten up from the coffee table, Spike's arms were around her middle, lifting her up, and then they were on the floor. Buffy turned her head to the side to give him better access to her neck, and realized she could see under the couch. "So that's how big the dust bunnies are," she mumbled. As her shirt slid over her head, she decided they were still small enough that they could wait another week.   


*


End file.
